My Heart is Ravished with Delight
by EOlivet
Summary: He married Mary on a Wednesday, but didn't take her home until Thursday. Companion piece to "So Much Once Was Thine" Christmas Special AU .


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is intended as a companion piece (though not a formal sequel) to my multi-chapter AU Christmas Special fic, "So Much Once Was Thine." Set immediately following the events of that story.

* * *

><p>He married Mary on a Wednesday, but didn't take her home until Thursday.<p>

There had simply never seemed an appropriate time for the two of them to leave the big house. After the ceremony, there had been the luncheon, and after the luncheon, there was a formal dinner. Then after dinner…well, it was New Year's Eve, after all – they couldn't very well leave before midnight.

He'd been torn, of course – between wanting to simply sweep Mary away from the festivities, and wanting to linger for her sake – to give her as much time as possible with her Papa and Sybil, before her youngest sister returned to Ireland and her father…well, every moment spent in his presence had become unspeakably important.

In the end, there'd been no contest – not when Mary had appeared to be enjoying herself so much. Though as the evening had worn on, he'd sensed her shifting closer towards him on the drawing room settee, her arm brushing against his sleeve, the better to lean slightly against him as the night progressed. She'd seemed relaxed, but weary from the day.

Thankfully, no one had made any kind of comment about why he and Mary were still at the house – everyone just enjoying each other's company, even as he'd caught a glimpse of several stifled yawns around the room. Nobody seemed anxious to be the first to leave this insulated cocoon of family togetherness in which they'd all shared.

But as the clock struck midnight, the magic began to dissipate – almost as if the night itself had been some kind of beautiful fairytale. When Robert had talked of retiring to bed, Cora, Edith and Sybil had all left with him to help him back up the stairs. Matthew had squeezed Mary's hand as she watched – knowing how she wished to help, as tired as she herself was. Violet had then collected his mother (who'd made plans to stay at the Dower House that evening) and the two women had left, as well.

He and Mary were alone. Alone for what felt like the first time all day – save the brief dance they'd shared together, where it seemed in those few moments, time had seemed to stop and the rest of the world had faded into oblivion.

Yet now Mary's eyelashes were fluttering in a vain attempt to stay open, so he nodded briefly to Carson for the car. Then Matthew turned back towards her, lifted her chin and softly kissed her.

"Happy New Year," he murmured.

She smiled through heavy eyes, and he rested his hand lightly on her back – trying to hold her up as she leaned against the doorway.

Once he'd escorted her into the car, her head lolled to the side, resting almost on his shoulder, as he kept his arm around her. These past few days had been such a whirlwind – and he wondered how well she'd slept.

He smiled when he realized he wouldn't have to wonder anymore. Not ever again.

When the car stopped in front of Crawley House, he gathered his nearly sleeping beauty in his arms – accepting some help from the new chauffeur in the form of a lantern, which guided Matthew through the gate and up the walkway – where Moseley was waiting with the door partially open.

It wasn't how Matthew would've envisioned carrying his bride across the threshold, but all that mattered was it was _this_ bride, and this threshold.

When it became clear that she might not be awake enough to manage the stairs on her own, he carried her up to his room. His back felt a twinge of pain, protesting at the effort, but he shrugged it off. He'd carry her anywhere, for as long as necessary. After all, she'd certainly carried him long enough.

Moseley and Ellen followed quietly at a respectable distance behind them, as Matthew entered his room and gradually eased Mary into the comfortable chair in the corner. He allowed himself a moment to simply take her in – her eyes closed, her head tilted to the side.

Kneeling beside her, he placed a hand on her arm. "Mary…my darling, we're here."

Her eyes opened lazily, glancing at him. Then he saw her brow furrow and her eyes grow larger in the dim light. "Oh…" she practically whispered. "Oh, Matthew – I'm so sorry…"

"No, it's—" He paused, uncertain as to how to continue. Sticking to neutral topics for now, he told her, "Ellen is ready to help you…in the dressing room. Since I don't believe you wish to sleep in your evening clothes…"

"Quite right," Mary responded, now stifling a yawn.

Again, he hesitated, rubbing his lips together – trying to think of the most discreet way to speak of their situation. "You are…of course, welcome to sleep in there if you like…"

That seemed to wake her up a bit more, and she gave him a look. "Really, Matthew? Is that where you wish me to spend my wedding night?"

"No— of course not, I only meant…" Giving up, he tried again: "Of, of course I want you here, but I didn't…we don't have to…" Apparently, his own exhaustion had rendered him incapable of coherency, as well.

As she covered another yawn with one hand, she patted his arm with the other – tabling any discussion on the matter by rising from her chair. He scrambled to his feet, opening the door that connected the two rooms, and lightly ushered her through to where Ellen was waiting.

After Moseley had finished with him, then faded quietly into the corridor, once again Matthew had to control his urge to pace around the room. This was, without a doubt, the most nervous he'd been – more than any previous proposal, far more than his wedding earlier. That she would be here…in his room…as he'd always imagined…

Then suddenly, the door opened, and she was standing in the doorway, her hair tied back in a ribbon, and clad in a lovely cream-colored dressing gown with (for some reason he noticed) bare feet.

He couldn't move…just kept staring at her, hoping his mouth wasn't open too much – still unable to believe she was _here_ – that she was his, and he was hers at long last.

His feet seemed to move of their own volition, as she walked towards him - their eyes locked on each other as if the other was pulling them closer through their mere presence.

Stopping with mere inches separating them, he leaned in to kiss her…at the moment she suppressed another yawn. She immediately offered what seemed a small smile of apology, casting her eyes downward as if embarrassed.

With an understanding smile, his lips found her cheek - before stepping quietly to the side – indicating she should get in bed first. He saw her hands resting uneasily on the tie of her dressing gown, and he turned away so she could remove it. When he'd heard her settle into bed, he walked around to the other side. Quickly dispensing of his own dressing gown, he got into bed beside her.

He kept staring up at the ceiling – almost not wanting to make eye contact, not wanting her to feel pressured in any way.

"Matthew?"

At the sound of her voice, he turned towards her. Her head was on the pillow, facing him – her cheek pressed to her hands. "Christmas was a week ago."

His breath drew in sharply at her words. It had been so easy to forget. A week ago, he'd been stealing glances at her across the room, wondering if things might ever be the same between them. A week ago, he'd started the day full of hope and ended it full of despair – after a visit to Lavinia's grave had seemed to reinforce the idea that he might never be happy again.

Only a week ago…he'd been at dinner, raising his glass along with the rest of the family when Robert had toasted to many more Christmases together…

"So it was…" Matthew responded.

In spite of himself, he lightly ran his fingertips along the side of her arm. She removed her hands from under her head, and he closed his fingers around hers – their hands now resting together between them.

"It's funny what can change in a year…" she remarked, her eyes on their joined hands.

A year ago, he'd been the one in the wheelchair – he'd been the one with no future, and nothing which to look forward. He'd had no idea how Mary felt about him, nor could he even bring himself to acknowledge what he still felt for her. A year ago, he'd been prepared to spend his life without her…

Preferring instead to focus on the present, he replied, "Well, I still prefer this to the start of last year." He felt himself almost unconsciously shifting slightly towards Mary, as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

Her shoulder had moved so it was now almost brushing his – the distance between them seeming to shrink by the second. "Perhaps you won't think that this time next year," she commented – sounding at once neither flippant nor serious.

His only response to that was to reach a hand around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his side. "I told you, my dear…we shall face it together," he reminded her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He felt her nestle beneath his chin – and after a moment's hesitation, her hand dropped from his to gently touch somewhere very close to his heart. It was warm through his nightclothes, and when she spoke, her breath felt heated against his neck. "Perhaps there would be a way…to add some joy to this year, after all."

She lifted her head, and suddenly, she was very, very close. His eyes had almost subconsciously traveled to her lips, and as he was about to lean forward…

"We could have a child," she finished.

Opening his eyes, his mouth now slightly agape, he stared at her in silence. There was something both too casual and too deliberate about her tone that gave him pause. His heart rate began to increase under her hand, and all of a sudden, he was very aware of her proximity.

Before he could answer, she continued: "I think after Papa…" she swallowed, heavily. "It would cheer them all so much – I don't even think they'd care if it wasn't a boy. To have a child in the house again…"

She seemed to hold the hope of multiple generations in her eyes, and once more, he thought it too heavy a burden for one person to bear. "Would that…make _you_ happy?" he asked her, running a hand along the side of her face, brushing back the stray pieces of hair gracing her cheek.

Her smile formed about a beat too late. "Of course!" she insisted, sounding almost – but not quite convincing.

"Mary…" He gathered her in his arms, pressing her to his chest. "We don't have to rush things. In fact, I think we've rushed quite enough for one week," he murmured. His hand traveled to the back of her head, combing through the strands of her hair.

He could feel her sigh reverberate through to his skin as her shoulders rose and fell. "But we haven't," she insisted, almost in a whisper. "We've wasted far too much time already. Everyone thinks…"

"_Everyone_ just wants you to be happy, darling." His arms tightened around her, as he felt the smoothness of her cheek against his neck. "That's what will cheer them, more than anything." He kissed the top of her head once more, one hand rubbing her back…feeling the warmth of her skin through the softness of her nightdress.

She lifted her head from his chest, and found his eyes once more with the sweetest, most open gaze he'd ever seen from her. "I…I love you, Matthew," she said, her voice seemingly trembling with the gravity of the words.

It was the first time he'd ever heard them aloud from her – though he'd always remember the first time she'd whispered those words to him, moments after they were married. All he could do was sigh her name almost reverently. Feeling her hand grasp his shoulder, her cheek resting softly on his chest.

Her lower body had shifted as well…and her bare foot now brushed against his.

His breath drew in at the contact – at their skin sliding together. Perhaps she felt it, as well, for he felt her foot now traveling lightly over his ankle. He swallowed a gasp, trying to reel in the emotions arising at her unexpected touch.

Her foot slid back down before it began gliding back up his lower leg. Almost unconsciously, one of his hands moved to rub her arm.

He felt her lips on his neck, and he had to close his eyes – as he began to press kisses into her hair. It was as if the more he kissed her, the less satisfied he became – which would've seemed impossible, had he not remembered that night all those years ago, when he'd kissed her with abandon. How impossible it had been to stop then…

She was tilting her head upwards, kissing his neck – and his lips were at her temple now, and her eyelids. Her mouth was at his chin and then his jaw, as he trailed his own lips down her cheek. Barely breathing, they blinked before they finally found each other. His lips parted immediately at that first touch, then deepened into a full exploration of her mouth.

He pulled back a moment, blissfully trapped in her gaze as his hand ran down her arm, under the sleeve of her nightdress. His fingers slipped over her elbow as she tugged at the ribbon in her hair – her lovely hair, which loosened around her shoulders in soft, beautiful waves.

If he'd somehow been in the dressing room as she'd removed her evening clothes, it would not have felt as intimate as this simple gesture.

She looped her arms around his neck as he claimed her mouth once more, and together, they sunk down into the pillows. Their upper bodies were flush against one another through their thin nightclothes – a layer of fabric apiece still shielding their heated skin…

Suddenly, it was not enough – and the hands that had been in his hair were now against his chest. He then moved his hands under hers to concentrate on a new task – helping her fingers to part fabric, as they made their way down his front, before pushing the material off his shoulders.

Then – almost as if she might lose her nerve if she didn't act immediately, she brought her hands to rest on either side of his waist. His mouth found her neck, sipping at her skin, his eyes shut tightly - trying to both ignore and concentrate on the sensation of her hands divesting him of his remaining clothing.

He was breathing hard, and could hear her equally shallow breath as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and reclaimed his lips. Bracing himself beside her, letting her set the pace – not daring to move too fast…her hips moved forward so she was flush against him, and his body pressed against her in kind…

She let out a gasp, opening her eyes again. Finding his, she let out a small sigh as she smiled almost in relief. One hand reached up to his face, lightly trailing her fingertips over his forehead, into his hair.

The distance between their bodies became non-existent, as her other hand reached for his. He felt the folds of fabric just north of her knees, as she moved his hand so he was lifting the nightdress up past her legs, over her hips, her stomach…up to where it could go no higher than the crook of her arm. He could only see brief glimpses of her bare skin in the dim light before she pulled the nightdress over her head.

They were both breathing heavily now – exhaling more than inhaling – and in an attempt to control himself, he kissed her again – softly, sweetly, undemanding. They could lie here like this all night, if that was what she wanted or…

Leaning on her side, she reached out a hand and began to trace it across his shoulders and down his chest and…lower still. There was no intent in her touch – only a bewildered kind of wonderment. He brushed back her hair, exposing her shoulder and began the same kind of tentative exploration with his fingertips…across…and around…and down... Her breath drew in, as his had, and suddenly she'd moved ever closer, the lower half of her body now pressing insistently against his. She gripped his shoulder, and for the first time, a quiet moan drew from her throat.

Now she was reaching for his hand, pulling herself onto her back. Their fingers enfolded together, and she brought them to her lips as he gazed down at her. Still, she kept hold of his hand – even as her foot once again brushed his, now hooking over his ankle. He kissed her again before she squeezed his hand in anticipation, then met her eyes once more as their bodies finally connected.

She made another sound – a quiet "Ah!" – and he almost froze. But then he heard her slowly exhale, feeling her toes curl…then slowly slide along his lower leg as they began to move together.

Her grasp on his fingers slackened, before sliding her hand out to reclaim her hold on his shoulder – altering their position. Somehow, this urged him even more fully within her, eliciting a groan from deep within him. Her foot was now halfway up his leg, and her hand moved from his shoulder to his back, pulling him closer…closer, if that was even possible…

He could hear soft noises humming from her throat, and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. That he could make her feel like this – even as she was making him feel more than he'd ever felt in his life…certainly more than he'd ever thought he could such a short time ago. Sensations he never knew existed, that her body alone could coax from him – punctuating each movement with a groan that only seemed to intensify every time her hips lifted against his.

Then her other hand found his back, so she was encompassing him completely – outside and in – her fingers, her nails…and her ring. Her ring pressed into his back, as if reminding him beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was his, and he was hers at long last, and everything, everything heightened even further. Their pace grew almost languid – time seemed to slow to their deep, exploratory rhythm. Now her back arched in response to him, her hands, her legs, her entire body tensing…then relaxing. Tensing…then relaxing.

It was a quiet, gradual build that soon became evident in her vocalizations – which only grew louder and more pronounced with every slow rise of her hips, as he met her…over and over…and over again…

They responded to one another, echoing each other's controlled, yet ardent cries that matched their erotic tempo. But soon, the silences began to dwindle and their voices were overlapping. Her longer moans reverted to shorter gasps, her nails sunk into his back, as her entire body contracted fiercely around his. He saw her – lips parted, chin tilted upwards, hair cascading down her back. It was everything he'd ever imagined, and yet so much more than any fantasy.

For it was real – they were married and she was here in his room, in his bed, and he'd done this – they'd done this - the shimmer of her skin, the quivering of her body, the blissful look on her face. It was too much – it was all too much, and he leaned over to capture her lips with his own – a final, fervent kiss before he lost himself within her.

After a few moments, he kissed her with slightly less intensity, and again, as their breathing slowed and the rapid rate of his heart began to stabilize. As they parted, he shifted to his side – gazing into her lovely eyes. Once more, he took her hand, holding it in the sliver of space between them, unable to stop stroking her fingers as his other hand brushed a piece of hair from her forehead…and he kissed her once more.

Her lips turned up in a shaky smile, as she murmured, "…Happy New Year," almost nonsensically.

He returned her smile as it suddenly occurred to him that this…was all part of the same day.

"You do realize…we got married last year," he pointed out, with a slight grin.

"I suppose that's rather fitting," she mused, her eyes traveling to their joined hands. "Only _we_ would've waited until the next decade."

Wrapping his arm around her, he drew her closer so she nestled against his chest once more.

"Matthew?" She didn't wait for him to respond before she lifted her head. "I don't …I don't want to sleep in their room. At the house."

Sighing, he could only hold her tighter. "Let's just…we don't have to worry about that now." Suddenly, it was as if time was speeding up again – the reality of their situation intruding upon them, having only been able to escape it for the latter part of the evening. He rubbed her arm, as if the gesture could both warm and comfort her.

She was silent for a moment, and he wondered if she'd fallen asleep. Until she quietly murmured, "I like this room. It's certainly not what I imagined."

Her hair muffled his quiet, affectionate laughter. "Oh, you imagined it, did you, my dear?"

He could feel her smile against his chest. "Yes, I did indeed wonder about the cave where we housed you," she teased him, as she stifled a yawn. Though he couldn't see her from his vantage point, it was obvious the day had finally caught up with her.

Shifting even closer to him, and tucking the bedclothes more firmly around her, she spoke in a drowsy monotone. "But…it's rather nice. I love it. And you, darling – of course…" The endearment slipped from her lips, as her hand rested against his chest, and after a few moments, he could hear her breathing start to slow in sleep.

As he lay there, with her sleeping on his chest, her gold band shining faintly in the dim light, he had to agree with her prior assessment. He no more wanted to sleep in the current Earl and Countess' room than she did. Though he knew that at least for the next few weeks, they would have these nights here, together. However quickly time moved outside this room…in here, time had seemed to stop for them.

But at this moment, there was only this wonderful, seemingly endless day – a day that had in fact began this past year. This morning, he'd awakened unmarried and in the span of a day, a year, a decade, he would fall asleep with his wife the next morning.

He glanced at the window, and though it seemed impossible, he swore he saw the sun beginning to peak through the trees as he shut his eyes and finally let the day draw to a close.

The End.


End file.
